When Beau Found Me: A Tale of Kibble, Heart, and a Hound’s Wisdom
The good Lord has a knack for knowing what we need long before we figure it out ourselves. When I gave my heart to Christ, I handed over my mind too, diving headfirst into seminary. Little did I know, a four-legged philosopher named Beau was about to teach me a similar lesson. To paraphrase John Pilley, author of Chaser, “If you have your dog’s heart, you’ll have his mind.” Beau, with his soulful eyes and hound-dog charm, proved that in spades.
Looking back, I see it clearly now, from the moment Beau waltzed into my life until he left pawprints on my heart last fall. But back then? I was clueless about what made this droopy-eared goofball tick. Beau was the ultimate dog’s dog, greeting every canine visitor to our house with a wagging tail and an invitation to play. Yet, for all his social swagger, I struggled to connect with him the way I had with other dogs. Let me take you back to where it all began.
Picture this: a scruffy hound chowing down on a bowl of kibble on my back porch like it was his personal buffet. My first thought? This guy doesn’t exactly scream ‘rocket scientist.’ I sized him up, floppy ears, soulful eyes, and a vibe that screamed, “I’ve seen some things.” I figured he was a stray with a PhD in porch-loafing.
I called a buddy who hunts, thinking I’d found him the perfect sidekick. “Hey, Harold, I’ve got a hunting dog for you!” I said, brimming with confidence. He swung by the next day, and I proudly showed off Beau’s one trick. “Check it out, he knows how to sit!” My friend doubled over laughing. “Aww, shoot, that ain’t no huntin’ dawg! He just knows how to sit!” Strike one for my dog-scouting career.
In my defense, Beau didn’t exactly scream “adopt me.” If I’d seen him in a shelter, surrounded by fluffy puppies and perky-eared mutts, I’d have walked right past. He was a hound, a hunting dog, and—let’s be real—he looked like he’d already lived a few lifetimes. My first impression? This dude’s older than my grandma’s couch. Oh, how wrong I was. Underestimating Beau’s smarts was my biggest fumble, and I cringe now for pigeonholing him as “just a hound.”
Here’s where it gets humbling. I tried to give Beau away, just like his two previous owners had. I tracked down the last one using the number on his collar. Her response? “You can have him.” Later that day, she texted me a gut-punch of a photo: Beau, cable-tied to a doghouse, looking like he’d lost all hope. She added, “We got him from the shelter.” My heart cracked, but Beau’s? He was already in pieces. We both had a lot to learn about trust, love, and second chances.
Beau wasn’t just a dog; he was a teacher with a wagging tail. Over time, he showed me that intelligence isn’t about tricks or hunting skills, it’s about loyalty, resilience, and knowing who’s worth sticking around for. He chose me, kibble thief and all, and I’m forever grateful he did. When Beau passed last fall, he left behind a legacy of love and a reminder: sometimes, the ones we overlook have the most to teach us.
Here’s to you, Beau, my heart-stealer and the smartest hound I never deserved.
RIP (Beau became a heavenly angel on August 26, 2025)
